Dreams
by CrazyCabernet
Summary: With Enjolras and Gavroche dead, Brigitte is the only person left in the world that truly matters to Éponine. So how is she supposed to react when her sister suddenly appears out of the blue and drags both of them off, but refuses to explain why? And just how dead was Enjolras, anyway? Not enough to stay dead, it seems. CRAPPY SUMMARY, SORRY, TITLE AND RATING SUBJECT TO CHANGE!
1. Prologue

**AN: OKAY, SO WHO ELSE HAS SEEN THE MOVIE SO FAR?! I went THE DAY IT CAME OUT, and OH MY GOD. I have exactly three words for you, people:**

**Ho. Lee. Barricade.**

**AND SO, since I've kind of hit a wall with Someone Who Touches my Life, and I've had this idea rattling around in my head for awhile now, I decided that to celebrate the movie's release, Christmas, the new year, AND the world not ending after all, I would put this up for my readers, friends, fellow Enjonine shippers, so on and so forth. **

**And yes, I seriously just called them Enjonine. I mean, seriously, people, why do we call them E/E? Enjonine would work just as well if not better, and plus, I think it has sort of a nice ring to it, that it rolls off the tongue pretty nicely, don't you? So from now on, I'm going to be calling them Enjonine. Feel free to start using it yourself if you want, that's why I'm telling you about it, and if you don't like it, then whatever, just don't use it, and don't come whining and complaining about it to me, it's not my problem if you don't like what I came up with, the back button is located in the top left corner of your screen, feel free to use it at any time, that's what it's there for.**

**NOW, as for the rest of you, yes; I know this prologue is a sad one, and yes; I know that the word "celebrate" usually entails happiness and joy and whatnot. This is how things started in my mind, though, and that's not my fault, it just happens to be what my brain conjured up, I had no control over it, okay? I'm sorry if it depresses you or something, and for those of you who are negatively affected by it and/or have negative reactions to it, again, the back button is located in the top left corner of your screen, so feel free to use it at any time, because again, that's what it's there for. Whatever you do, though, NO FLAMES, BECAUSE I'LL JUST USE THEM TO ROAST MARSHMALLOWS AND MAKE S'MORES! And warm up, because it's REALLY cold down here right now, and to be totally honest, I'm not sure that should even be possible, because I'm in MOTHER FRACKING TEXAS, for the love of Tveitjolras! **

**Oh, and one more thing. I know that in SWTmL, I described Enjy's hair as being blonde and hanging down to about his shoulders and usually tied back with a leather cord, but I just loved Aaron Tveit SO much that I had to incorporate his appearance into how I picture Enjy SOMEhow, and I absolutely ADORED how his hair was all curly in the movie, so I decided to use that as my way of working him into my mental Enjy image. :)**

**Anyway, I'm rambling again, so I'll just do one more thing and then shut up and let you read, kk?**

**I OWN NOTHING AND DENY EVERYTHING! XD**

**-Maggie**

* * *

Éponine stood by silently, hugging herself as her tears began to dry, teeth chattering uncontrollably not because she was cold, but because she was scared and in pain, both emotionally and physically. Her little brother was dead. Her best friend had been badly wounded, then mysteriously disappeared. And now this. The man she'd fallen in love with crying out in agonized pain as Joly worked frantically to stop the bleeding from the three bullet wounds he'd recieved during the battle. As for Éponine herself, she'd also gotten hit at some point, though not anywhere near as badly as any of the boys, not including Joly, who'd spent most of the fight putting his medical knowledge into play by trying in vain to save his wounded friends' lives.

When Éponine had been hit, the bullet hadn't actually entered her body anywhere. Rather, it had grazed her arm, tearing the fabric of her oversized coat and the dirty blouse underneath and nicking the skin on her shoulder. Joly had tried to insist on treating it for her, but she'd taken the bandages from him and placed one hand on his chest to push him away, firmly and adamantly telling him that she was fine and could take care of it herself, for she'd had much worse in the past, and that the other students needed him far more than she did at the moment, so he should go and do what he could for them. He'd agreed with this, and so after giving her something to rub on the cut before bandaging it so it wouldn't get infected, he'd taken his bag and hurried off to tend to his friends.

And now everyone was dead, with the single exception of Alain Enjolras.

And he was lying helplessly on a cot, screaming himself hoarse each time Joly touched one of his wounds in any way.

Éponine could feel a fresh bout of tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes, and she immediately put a hand over her mouth with the hope that it would muffle her sobs once they started, not wanting the sound of them to distract Joly, upset Enjolras even more, or cause either of them to worry about her when something far more urgent than her emotional distress was currently underway. And then, suddenly, Enjolras' cries stopped and were replaced by the sound of his heavy breathing and Joly speaking to him in a low, smooth voice. There was a quiet reply, and Éponine thought she saw a hand motion weakly, then next thing she knew, Joly was in front of her, face beaded with sweat and hair in a wild mess. When he spoke, he said only three words; "He wants you." Then he was gone, and Éponine was alone with Enjolras' form lying on the cot.

She approached slowly, feeling as if she were in a trance and not in control of her own body, as if she were floating somewhere up among the rafters and was merely observing things. She found a chair and pulled it up next to his bedside to sit in, then looked at him. His eyes were closed at the moment, but his face was pale and waxy and almost translucent, and he was soaked in sweat, and his dirty blonde curls were plastered to his forehead, and his lips were parted slightly, and his breathing was ragged and shallow, yet at the same time, he was taking deep breaths.

Gently, as if she were afraid of causing him anymore pain, Éponine brushed some curl away from his face. His blue eyes fluttered open at her touch, roaming around until they found her face, at which he smiled weakly, and she returned it. "Are you alright?" he asked softly. "Joly said you'd been shot."

Éponine's hand went to her shoulder. "Oh," she said, "it...it's nothing, really. Just a nick, that's all. It grazed my shoulder, and it stung something fierce for a little while, but it's all cleaned and bandaged up now, I hardly feel a thing, honest. I'm much more worried about you than I am about myself. After all, I'm not the one who had three bullets get inside of me, now, am I?"

Enjolras chuckled. "Touché," he muttered. His smile returned a bit stronger, and he sighed contentedly as he gently stroked her face with the back of his hand. "You're so beautiful, 'Ponine," he said. "You've no idea how much it means to me that you would choose me instead of Marius. Even after nearly a month, it still feels as if I'm dreaming sometimes, and I always dread waking up and finding it's not real. I've never been in love before, did you know? To be completely honest, I was beginning to think that perhaps I never would be, that...perhaps, for some reason, I was incapable of it."  
"That's not what I've heard," she said. "Gavroche once told me you had a mistress named Patria."

He shook his head, a thoughtful look on his face. "No," he said slowly, "no, I...I think he misunderstood what I said. I admit that I did once tell the others, when I was asked by Jehan if I'd ever been in love, that my mistress was Patria, but what Gavroche mistook for a woman's name is actually not a name at all. It's a Latin word that means 'the home,' 'the homeland,' or 'the fatherland.' In Spanish, it can also mean 'the motherland.' In other words, France. What I meant when I said that was that France itself, or herself, as the case was at the time, was my mistress. I can understand, though, why Gavroche must have thought it was a woman's name, especially since he was only ten."

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Oh, 'Ponine, I'm so sorry. I'm so, _so _sorry, _doux ange. _I should have done more, I should have grabbed him and..."  
"It's not your fault, Alain," she said, grasping his hand in hers. "None of their deaths was your fault, including Gavroche's. They all died fighting for what they believed in, every single one of them, especially Gavroche. They are all martyrs now, and they are all in a better place, with God and no longer suffering. Chains no longer bind any of them, they have at last put all their grief behind them, and they can all now be at peace evermore. They are all home now, and they would not blame you for what happened, believe me."

Enjolras held her gaze, his light sapphire eyes locked against her earthy green-and-brown. Then, without any warning, he clenched his eyes shut as he was suddenly overcome with a violent shudder. He put a hand over his mouth as he began coughing, staring down at the warm, sticky red coating all over his palm when he pulled his hand away. Éponine's eyes widened in horror at the sight, a wave of panic washing over her as Enjolras began coughing again, this time more violently than before. She helped him into a sitting position, then propped him up with the pillows before running to the foot of the stairs Joly had vanished up earlier, eyes wide with fear as she called out for him frantically, then ran back to Enjolras' side and took his hand in hers.

"It's alright, Joly's on his way," she said, her voice low as she struggled to keep the growing panic she felt out of it. "You'll be fine, I promise, you'll be fine, you..." She trailed off as he met her eyes, mouth and chin red with his own blood, a spark of fear in his blue eyes for the first time since she'd known him. "Éponine," he said weakly, his voice hoarse. "Éponine, I...Promise me..." Before he could finish, he was coughing again, and then Joly was on them, letting Éponine stay by Enjolras' side only after the latter began protesting fiercly when his friend asked the _gamine _to move away from the bed. When Enjolras insisted, however, Joly allowed the girl to stay, but asked that she go around to the other side of the cot, which she did, taking her chair with her so she could continue to sit and hold Enjolras' hand as she had been doing so far.

Then came the most terrifying moment yet, more so even than anything that had happened during the actual fighting itself.

Joly set his medical supplies aside, adjusted his glasses, and looked at her solemnly. "I've done everything I can," he said. "From what I can tell, the bullet that went in below his ribs is puncturing an organ, probably one of his lungs, based on the coughing and blood. There's nothing more I can do for him, I'm afraid."

"You mean...he's..."  
"I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry, 'Ponine. He's important to me, too, I know it's hard, believe me. If I were you, I'd say whatever I need to say to him and..."

She nodded slowly, tears already beginning to fall. "I understand," she whispered. "Thank you, Joly. For everything." He nodded, reaching across and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll give you some privacy," he said.

After he was gone, Éponine let out the sob she'd been holding back as she grasped both of Enjolras' clammy hands in her own trembling ones and leaned over him, pressing frantic kisses all over his face and forehead as she ran her slender fingers through his matted curls. "I love you," she sobbed. "I love you so much, more than I can say. My God! Dammit, Alain, you bastard, don't you dare leave me, you hear?! Don't you dare! I need you! I can't...Oh, dear God, are you really going to make me say it right now, under such awful circumstances? I'm _pregnant, _dammit, I'm going to have your baby!"

His eyes opened, and she immediately noticed with a jolt of terror that the light in them was much, much dimmer than it usually was. If he'd been pale and translucent before, he was practically colorless and almost glassy now. His breathing was even more shallow and uneven, his lips were waxy, and he just looked frighteningly gaunt and close to death in general, the dark circles around his eyes standing out against his pallid face like a solid black horse against an open field of freshly fallen snow overcast by a stark, pale gray-that-bordered-on-white sky.

He managed to smile weakly at her. "Then you must forgive me, 'Ponine," he whispered hoarsly. "You must try to find it in you to forgive me for my stupidity, because I would not have been wounded so badly if not for it. Forgive me that I will not be here to meet our child and see it grow up and be the father it will need. I will be there, though. I promise that I will be right beside you both every step of the way, that I will continue to love you both more than anything. I'm so sorry, Éponine, truly. More than I ever have been about anything else in all my life, I'm so sorry. You must promise me that if the child is a boy, you will name him after your brother. Make it his middle name if you like, but promise me that you will give him Gavroche's name."

Éponine nodded tearfully. "I promise," she whispered. "I swear it on my life." Enjolras smiled at her again. "Good..._Merci, ma belle rose, __merci..._I love you, 'Ponine. I shall always love you as you are, however you will be, and most of all, I shall always love you as you were. I shall always love the streetwise _gamine _in the oversized coat with dirt all over her face and that sweet, slightly shy disposition. You shall always be that girl to me, 'Ponine, no matter where you go in life, or where you end up. I shall still always look upon you and be unable to stop myself from seeing some remainder of her in you. No matter what, you will always be my sweet little rose in misery, and I shall always love you as such. I love you so much, 'Ponine..._Je...__Je t'aime, ma rose misérable...Je t'a..."_

His eyelids fluttered shut weakly, eyes rolling back slightly at the same time. His head sank into the pillow it rested on, then lolled to the side so that he would have been looking straight at Éponine's middle if his eyes had still been open. His weak grip on her hand relaxed completely before his own hand fell from hers, arm hanging limply over the side of the cot as a sigh so gentle that it almost didn't exist escaped from between his lips.

It was not followed by another breath.

Éponine could barely breathe past her heartbroken sobs.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, don't ask me how exactly her attention ended up shifting from Marius over to Enjy, or how he ended up going, "OMG, I'm in LUUUURV with Marius' shadow!" or anything, because I myself am not totally sure because of the plotholes that my troll brain decided to toss in there when the idea for this started to form in my head. And ESPECIALLY don't ask me when they did the actual baby-making, because, again, my brain trolled me with plotholes on this thing.**

**SPEAKING of Marius, here's a question for those of you who have seen the movie:**

**Am I the only one who thought that his voice was a little weird?**

**I mean, don't get me wrong, his acting was great and everything, and while I do have to admit that he wasn't exactly the most attractive Marius out there, his overall performance was fantastic, I just think that as far as his singing voice went, they could have done a little better, especially with how it sounded with Amanda Seyfried's during their duets. I mean, it just sounded...Oh, what's the word I'm looking for here?...Off, I guess? And by that, I just mean that it didn't really go very well with hers, you know? ****One of my mom's friends posted her review for the movie on Facebook, and she said that, and I quote, "Marius sounded like a frog." Now, personally, I don't think he was THAT bad, but he did sound kind of weird to me, as I said before. I dunno, maybe that's just me, but I'm curious about what you guys' thoughts on it are.**

**For that matter, while we're at it, also tell me what changes you did and didn't like, and just your overall thoughts on the whole damn thing. There were several lyric changes that I really loved, especially during the finale, where instead of saying "THEY will live again in freedom," "THEY will walk behind the ploughshare," and "THEY will put away the sword," I just cannot get over the fact that it was "WE will live again in freedom," "WE will walk behind the ploughshare," and "WE will put away the sword."**

**And here's what REALLY made me aaaaaawwwwwww:**

**"Come, Cosette; Come, my dear. From now on, I will always be here. Where I go, you will be."  
"Will you be like a papa to me?"  
"Yes, Cosette; yes, it's true; I'll be father _and _mother to you."**

**:') It completely melted my heart into a big huge puddle of warm sticky goo.**

**-Maggie**

**PS: Ok, my pathetic little lapbook of a computer is no more, because I now have a full-size, honest-to-goodness GATEWAY LAPTOP with WINDOWS EIGHT and a DISC SLOT and a BIG, BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS SCREEN! I've been playing Sims 3 on it almost non-stop these past few days, I've already got Enjonine offspring in a saved game on there, plus Jack/Rose (from Titanic) offspring in another and my Simself is a vampire in one and a witch in another with two Calicos named after Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer from CATS! I can finally stop cloggin up my mom's desktop with all my Nancy Drew PC games and all my Sims stuff and the other stuff I have! AND THE SOUND ACTUALLY WORKS! Now all this thing needs is Microsoft Office so I can type and all the stuff from my other one to get transferred onto it, and it will be COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY PERFECT! *explodes out of sheer euphoria***


	2. Like Father, Like Daughter

**AN: WELL! This certainly took longer to get done than I expected it would! No worries, though, I figured everything out. My new friend, the very nice and helpful person known as judybear236, shot me a couple PMs with some constructive criticism for things she noticed in the prologue. Most of it isn't really a very big deal, just things like run-on sentences, and she also found a dangling participle, things like that, you know. Nothing I'm too terribly worried about. A little embarrassing (okay, so I hid under the desk when she pointed them out, so sue me), but nothing big enough to make my laziness go away enough for me to go back and change any of it. XD**

**However, she DID also point out that the things Enjy's saying as he's dying would make more sense if it wasn't as long-winded, or if he'd spoken in short gasps or something since he's dying and having growing trouble breathing, what with his punctured lung and everything. I admit, I could have done better with that. But, like I told judybear, I was distracted a little by the show on TV at the time, it was kind of close to time for my brother and I to go to bed, so I might have been kind of tired and not realized it, so my writing was probably not at its best. **

**BUT, I also pointed out to judybear that William Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon, considered to be one of the greatest writers in recorded history, mind you, would do things to his characters such as have them get stabbed in a duel, and then lay dying on the stage, and yet still somehow be able to spout out these ridiculously long monologues that Enjy's had absolutely NOTHING on. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I now ask that you please direct your attention to Exhibit A, the dying words of Mercutio from _Romeo & Juliet._**

**Having just been wounded by Tybalt under Romeo's arm, the "Avaric of Verona," as I like to call him, lays on the stage with Romeo by his side and Benvolio nearby. With his dying breath, this man not only makes a pun of a joke ("Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man."), but says at least three times, "A plague o' both your houses!" There are several other things, as well, things that, in my copy, form an entire _paragraph._ **

**And after Romeo responds to his question ("Why came thou between us? I was hurt under your hand."), he has another two or three lines, one of which is to request of Benvolio to come and "help me into some house." Again, he cries out, "A plague o' both your houses!" He then declares that "they [the Montagues and Capulets] have made worm's meat of me." Then, with a final shout of, "Your houses!" he is helped offstage by Benvolio, where he then dies out of the audience's sight.**

**HE IS BLEEDING TO DEATH OUT OF A STAB WOUND AS HE SAYS ALL OF THIS. WHERE, I ASK OF YOU, IS THE LOGIC IN THAT?!**

**If the most famous writer in history is allowed to do things like THAT, I'm pretty sure that a small, insignificant little footnote like me can have Enjolras manage to get out what he did while breathing with a punctured and bleeding lung.**

**-Maggie**

* * *

Éponine brushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Not that it really made much difference, she thought wryly, when there were two or three others that had managed to escape from her messy bun. Every now and then, she glanced up from her writing to check on the children sitting on the bed playing together. The boy, Jean, was Marius and Cosette's son. They had named him after Jean Valjean, which Cosette had explained to Éponine had been the true name of the man she had called Papa for nearly her entire life. This Jean had his father's hair and eyes, and his face was covered in freckles like Marius' was, but the rest of his face was primarily Cosette. The other child, a little girl, looked so much like her father that it sometimes made her mother's heart ache.

Since she couldn't fulfill her love's dying wish of naming their child after her younger brother, Éponine had instead decided to call her daughter Brigitte. When her baby was a few months old, she'd managed to track down Marius and gone to him for help. She'd explained everything as best she could to him and Cosette, and they'd insisted on her staying with them for as long as she needed. She and Cosette had sat together one day and cleared the bad air that remained between them from their childhood, and had actually become quite close over time. She didn't quite know how, nor had she planned on it, but she had been with them for all five years of her daughter's life. Well, and Jean's, too, really, since he'd been born not long after Éponine had come to her best friend seeking help.

She looked up when she heard one of them start crying, only to find Jean on the floor. She sighed as she set her pen down and stood to go pick him up. "Brigitte, did you have anything to do with this?" she asked, kneeling in front of the chest at the foot of the bed and digging through it in search of a bandage to put on the small cut he'd gotten from the corner of one of the bedposts when he'd fallen. The little girl crossed her arms as she flopped back against the pillows, dirty blonde curls falling in front of her light sapphire eyes.

"He said that he could beat me up easy if he wanted and I wouldn't be able to do anything because I'm a girl," she said. Éponine closed her eyes as she sighed again, pulling her daughter into her lap and putting an arm around Jean's shoulders. "Jean," she said, "you need to learn not to say that sort of thing. It's what's called chauvanistic. Being a girl does not mean that someone is weak, or can't defend herself. I spent a good deal of my life living mostly on the streets, and I had to teach myself how to fight so I could survive. But Brigitte, if I've told you once, I've told you a billion times, you can't just shove people or step on their feet or slap them in the face or whatever else you do just because they've insulted or upset you!"

Brigitte rested her head on Éponine's chest, but wouldn't look up to meet her mother's eyes, nor did she say anything. Éponine turned when she heard the front door open downstairs. "Jean," she said, "it sounds like your parents are home. Go say hello to them and let me talk to Brigitte for a moment, will you?" He nodded, then jumped up and ran out the door, which Éponine closed softly behind him, then leaned against, covering her face with her hands to muffle the sob she felt coming and knew she wouldn't be able to contain.

"God, child!" she cried tearfully. "You are so much like your father, I absolutely can't stand it sometimes! He would do the exact same thing sometimes, you know, just punch his friend Grantaire right in the jaw or give him a black eye when he got fed up with that stupid, silly, loveable idiot of a drunk and his ridiculous antics. Oh, Brigitte, my precious little _ange. _You are very much your papa's child. You look like him, you act like him...If I didn't know any better, there are even times when I would say that you _are_ him had he been born a girl."

Sighing heavily, Éponine fell tiredly onto the bed beside her daughter. The little girl lay down cheek-to-cheek with her mother. "Mama?" she said quietly. Éponine's eyebrows went up slightly, but her eyes didn't open. "Mmm?"

"Where is my papa? Why has he never come to see me? Did something happen to him, or did he just not love us enough to stay long enough to at least see me born?"

Éponine's eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, hair nearly completely fallen out of its bun by that point so that it now framed her face in a wild brown mess. "My God, Brigitte!" she cried. "Your papa is with God! He has never come to see you because he promised that he would be with both of us always! Did he love us, what a thing to ask, child! Of course he did! It was him who wanted me to name you after my brother if you had been a boy. Oh, Brigitte, sweetheart, you are too young to hear the full story of what happened. I promise that I shall tell it to you when you are older, darling, but for now, the only thing you need to know is that your father was a brave man with a good heart who led his friends with a fierce passion that was admired by many. He died fighting for a good cause that meant a great deal to him. He wanted so much to be around to see you grow up and to be father to you. He would have stayed with us if he could, I do not doubt that for even a second, my sweet child."

"Haven't you got any pictures of him, Mama?" Brigitte asked. Éponine planted her knees on the mattress and reached for the painting hanging above the bed, working two of her fingertips into the space between the canvas and the frame. When she drew them back out, there was a dirty, folded up piece of paper held firmly in them. She pressed it against her chest, closed her eyes, and then just stayed that way without moving for several moments. Finally, she drew in a deep breath through her nose and settled into a comfortable position against the pillows, putting an arm around Brigitte when the girl snuggled up against her.

She took hesitated for a moment before slowly unfolding the paper. She looked at the ceiling as she did so, but as soon as her eyes moved back down and found the image on the worn out sheet, Éponine couldn't stop herself from inhaling sharply as her hand flew to cover her mouth. "Oh," she breathed, "I...I'd forgotten how...intense...he could look sometimes...like when he was focused on something."

She blinked and returned to the present, managing to put a smile on her face for Brigitte. "His friend Jehan Prouvaire drew this of him the night they all died," she said. "Oh! I just...I just remembered...Brigitte, I...I remember the very moment this...He was sitting on a crate or something that had ended up in the barricade, it was about halfway up, and he was just...he was just sitting there holding the flag and looking around, and then...he lowered his head...and he...he closed his eyes...and he just...sat. He barely moved at all after that, not until the second round of fighting began. His shoulders moved with his breath, a finger might twitch every now and then, but other than that, he just...sat there like this...and...and...and Jehan got it down on paper, he...Oh, sweet Jesus!"

The door opened and Cosette stuck her head in, brow furrowed in confused concern. "Éponine, is everything alright? I thought I heard...Oh, 'Ponine! What's wrong?" Éponine bit her lower lip and held the paper up for the blonde to see. "Jehan...He got him down on paper, Cosette, he...This is the only image I have of him, and I wouldn't even have it if Jehan hadn't started drawing that night, I...Oh, God, Cosette, I just..."

She sobbed and fell into Cosette's embrace, the drawing fluttering to the floor near the bed as she did. Brigitte slipped soundlessly off the bed and got to her knees beside the sketch, turning it so she was looking at it right-side-up instead of from the side, staring in silent fixation at the man on the page in front of her. His intense gaze met hers past the unruly mess of curls hanging down in his face in a way that wasn't entirely unlike what Brigitte's own hair tended to do sometimes. She lightly touched his cheek with the tip of her index finger as a single whispered word left her lips.

"Papa..."

* * *

**AN: Awww, poor Brigitte. BTW, for anyone who's not sure, can't tell, doesn't know, etc., the "g" in her name is pronounced the same way as the "j" in Enjy's name, which is that "zh" sound that can be heard in the word "bonjour." So instead of saying it as if it's the word "bridge" with an "et" on the end, like you would with the English version of it, Bridget, you would say it as "bri-zheet," or, if you want to get technical with the prononciation symbols and stuff, it would be "bree-ZHEET."**

**And yeah, I know that Jehan is a poet, but for some reason, I can also see him doing things like sketching and doodling when he gets bored. I just have an easier time picturing him doing that than I do, say, Feuilly or Combeferre or any of the others. I think part of that may have to do with the fact that he's the romantic one of the group, but...*shrugs* **

**Originally, I was going to have 'Ponine go downstairs and ask Marius if he happened to have any pictures of Enjy, and he was like going to pull the sketch out of a box on the mantle or something and tell her that it had been found on Jehan's person after he died and he wanted her to keep it, but then I said to myself, "It would actually probably be a lot cuter in a bittersweet kind of way if it was already in her possession and she had it tucked away somewhere in the bedroom." And that "somewhere" just happened to end up turning into the space between the frame and canvas on that painting over the bed, so...yeah. That's how that happened. :/**

**Anyway, as always, Les Mis doesn't belong to me in any way, shape, or form, and the only things/people I have any kind of claim to at all is Jean Pontmercy and Brigitte. ****Oh, hey, speaking of Jean, wanna know a little tidbit about the kid? **

**See, in Sims 3, I have a saved game where I made Marius, Cosette, 'Ponine, and Enjy, using an Eddie Redmayne Sim as Marius' base, Aaron Tveit as Enjy's, Amanda Seyfried as Cosette's, and Samantha Barks as 'Ponines. I made Cosette Marius' wife and 'Ponine Enjy's, then stuck them all in a house together, and then the girls both had babies like literally only a few Sim hours apart, because Cosette actually broke out into labor as she and 'Ponine were heading outside to get in the car so she could take 'Ponine to the hospital, right? And Enjy was at work (his LTW is to be the Leader of the Free World, so he's in the Political career and Marius rolled the wish to register as a self-employed writer, and I said, "eh, sure, why not, let's do it"), and then autonomy was making Marius uncooperative as far as going with the girls to the hospital went, right?**

**So, anyway, they get there, and a couple seconds later, I get the message that Enjy had gotten off work, so I sent him on over there, and then autonomy sends Marius over (finally!) to be with Cosette, right? Well, obviously, 'Ponine got out first since she had gone into labor first. So I went into Buy Mode real quick, got a crib, recolored it accordingly, stuck in their (red with black accents XD) bedroom back at the house, then went ahead and had them start heading on home while I waited for Cosette and Marius to come out so I could see THEIR baby.**

**Less than two minutes later, I get a message saying "Congradulations on a new baby boy!" and telling me that since Cosette had a smooth pregnancy, I would get to pick his first two traits. (YAY) And then I sat there for a couple minutes trying to think of a name before finally settling on Jean. Well, three Sim days later, when it was time for them to become toddlers, Jean grew up looking EXACTLY. LIKE. HIS FATHER. I swear, the kid was like a carbon copy of his dad. Eddie Redmayne lips, dark hair, green eyes. The only difference I could find was that Jean didn't have freckles all over his face, which Marius has because of the whole Eddie Redmayne thing.**

**SO, when I started writing this chapter, all I could think about when talking about the kids was Sim Jean. So that's actually where most of Jean's appearance in this came from. Crazy, isn't it?**

**-Maggie**

**PS: For anyone wondering, I actually had 'Ponine eat a watermelon while pregnant so she would have a girl just so I could name the baby Brigitte. *blushes* Guilty as charged, take me away, Javert! *laughs* Anyway, unlike the Brigitte in the story, the one in Sims actually came out as a pretty good balance of both parents. She got Enjy's hair and 'Ponine's eyes and skintone. Neither of them has reached the Child stage of life yet, so I can't really tell who she takes after more as far as her facial features go, but I'll let you know once they have their next birthday and she gets old enough for me to get a better idea of how she'll turn out.**


	3. The Other Sister

**AN: Okay, so I was writing this, and it felt WAAAAAAY longer than it actually is. Not the first time I've had this happen. Am I the only one? Maybe it's because I have ADD and tend to get distracted from time to time, usually for several minutes on end. Seriously, though, has this ever happened to anyone else, or am I alone on this? Sorry, let me rephrase that last part; Am I on my own with this one? *strikes a cheesy pose and grins like an idiot* *ba-dum, tssss!* Eh? EEEEEh? See what I did there, eh? *relaxes* Yeah, I know, that was stupid and pretty cliche, and most of you probably saw it coming from like a mile away, but I'm just such an enormous dork with like no social life outside of school and FB RP and the PM system on here that I just couldn't resist, so go ahead and bring on the tomatoes and rotten cabbages, guys, I've earned it this time and I know it.**

**Again, thanks to judybear236 for pointing out last chapter's mistakes. But, for reasons that I've already explained to judybear and that are much too lengthy to put in an AN (yes, even one of my _stupid _stupid long ramblers, what does that tell you?), not all of them are going to get fixed, though I did go back and correct a spelling mistake. True, it was only one letter, but that is one letter too many for OCD like mine to handle, so yeah. P:**

**Disclaimer: Um, okay, let's see; I am sixteen, female, a high school sophomore, don't have my driver's liscense yet, haven't even started taking any of the tests involved in the process of GETTING that license, and spend a lot of my free time either on the computer, or in my room listening nonstop to Adam Lambert, Broadway, Glee, Moulin Rouge, and David Cook while drooling over pictures of the man that I have fallen hopelessly in love with, who, I might add, is not only thirty or thirty-one years old (not that he looks anything like it, the gorgeous sexy creature *swoons*) and therefore too old for me, but is also a major celebrity who lives MILES away from me and doesn't even know I exist. Oh, and then of course there's the fact that he's GAY. Yes, I admit it! I am hopelessly and shamelessly in love with a gay man! My mother and I have arguments over whose gay boyfriend he is!**

**So, put all of that together, and then you tell me;  
Do I LOOK like Hugo, Boublil, or Schönberg to any of you people?  
YYYYYep. Didn't think so.**

**So, boys and girls, what have we learned today? That's right! Maggie STILL doesn't own Les Mis or anyone in it!**

**...I TOTALLY OWN BRIGITTE, THOUGH, MWAHAHAHAHAHA-*starts hacking, pounds on chest with fist and suck in huge gulps of air, clears throat and straightens out shirt, smooths back hair* Don't worry. I'm fine. S'all cool. Nothin' to see here, people, come on, keep it movin', that's right, move along. *starts singing* Just keep swimmin', just keep swimmin', just keep swimmin', swimmin', swimmin', what do we do? We SWIIIIIIIIM!**

**...Oh, come ON, guys! Dory! Gotta love 'er!**

**-Maggie**

* * *

"'Ponine. Psst, 'Ponine. Wake up."

She moaned and rolled over, burying her head beneath a pillow. "Oh, please, Cosette, give me just a few more moments," she muttered. "Brigitte was up with nightmares last night, I'm exhausted from having to deal with that." When she didn't hear any response, she sighed in content and let herself relax again. And then the poking returned with more vigor than before. "Éponine," the voice said in a louder volume. "Éponine, wake up, we've got to get going!"

That was when something managed to breach the tired fog surrounding Éponine's mind. It suddenly struck her that the voice, although familiar, did not belong to Cosette Pontmercy at all. She frowned and pulled the pillow back to see the unknown speaker. Standing over her was a teenage girl with tangled reddish-brown hair framing a dirty face whose features were remarkably similar to what Éponine was used to seeing every time she looked at herself in a mirror. Her eyes widened and she gasped loudly, but the girl's hands were covering her mouth before she could cry out.

"Shh! Keep it down, 'Ponine!" the girl whispered. "Do you want to wake up the whole house?" Éponine grabbed her wrists and forced her hands away. "Azelma! What in the world do you think you're doing?! Where did you come from, how the hell did you even get in here?!" she demanded as she sat up, the locks of hair that had escaped from her braid framing her face. Azelma sighed and perched herself on her sister's bed. "It's...Look, I'll explain later, okay? But right now, I need you to get up, get dressed, get a few things into a bag, and come with me, alright?"

Éponine tried to respond, but the sound got caught in her throat due to the shock at seeing her sister appear so abruptly at her bedside at four-thirty-something in the morning. She was saved from having to reply when she noticed a small figure standing in the doorway clutching a doll to its chest and rubbing one of its eyes. Éponine gasped and leapt up, snatching her robe off the bedpost it was hanging on and slipping it on. "Brigitte!" she cried softly, sweeping the child up in her arms. "Oh, sweetheart, your eyes. Have you been crying again? Did you have another bad dream?"

"Éponine," Azelma said, "what...I don't understand, who...?"

The older Thénardier sister sat down at her vanity table and pulled a handkercheif out of a drawer, using it to wipe away the tears that still remained on her daughter's face before telling the five-year-old to blow her nose with it. "This is Brigitte," she said, turning to look at Azelma. "She's your niece, 'Zelma. My daughter. Her father-" Here, she picked up the sketch of him that Jehan Prouvaire had done, which she'd left tucked into the frame of the vanity mirror before going to bed, "-was the leader of a group of student revolutionaries, Les Amis de l'ABC. They all died at their barricade the night of Lamarque's death five years ago. Excpet for Joly, that is, but he was playing the part of doctor for most of the fight since he was a medical student. Alain was...the last of them to die. I held his hand as he went to join his brothers. And that was that."

She reached out and took the paper back, folding it up and slipping it into her robe pocket as she stood up. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to know why exactly it is you've decided to sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night and wake me up like this. You've got a lot of explaining to do, so start talking, little sister."

Azelma jumped up off the bed. "We've got to get out of here, 'Ponine," she said in a low voice, bending over at the waist and linking her hands behind herself. "Papa's been at it again. I don't know exactly what it is he's done this time, but whatever it was, it must've been big, 'Ponine, real big. They've got nearly half the force looking for him, all the gang's been questioned and are being held just in case until they know more, and if they find out that you and me are around and that we're his daughters and that we used to help him? Gosh, Éponine, we'd both get it real good for sure! We've gotta get outta here quick as possible, and she's gotta come with us. Oh! I almost forgot about Gavroche! Do you have any idea where he's been lately? Still in that elephant would be my guess, the silly little bugger!"

Éponine set Brigitte down on the bed and gently put her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Azelma," she said softly, slowly shaking her head. "Gavroche is dead." Azelma's smile faded. "Wh-What?" she gasped. Éponine brushed some of Azelma's bangs aside so she could see her face more clearly. "He died as a martyr at the barricades after Lamarque's death five years ago. He was very close friends with the group that Brigitte's father led, he went into the streets to collect bullets and such off of dead bodies when they started running low on ammunition. He took was able to hold up after the first two shots, but I suppose the third was just too much for his little body to take. He was so brave up until the very end, though, Azelma, you should have seen him. You ought to be proud of what him, I know I certainly am, and I always will be."

Azelma's eyes were wide and unblinking. "So it's just us girls now," she breathed. Éponine nodded. "Yep. Just you, me, and Brigitte. 'Zelma, are you alright?" The younger girl blinked a few times and shook her head. "I-I'm fine," she replied. "It's just..."  
"I know. Believe me, I know."

Composing herself and standing up a little straighter, Azelma smoothed out her dirty, torn up skirt. "Well," she said, "we'd better not stick around any longer than we have to. You both need to get dressed and pack a bag of whatever you can't stand to leave behind or the things you think you might need. We've got to get out of Paris, and fast, so get moving."

* * *

**AN: Remember those plotholes my brain trolled me with that I mentined in the prologue? Well, guess what? That's right, more plotholes. I have no *censoring bleep*ing CLUE what the hell it is Thénardier did this time because, again, I'VE BEEN TROLLED BY MY OWN BRAIN! *conks self on forhead with some random plastic pole or something that I got from who-the-hell-knows-where* OW! *drops pole, puts hand on forehead* Holy BARRICADE, that thing is a lot more solid and painful than I expected! Merde! I really gotta be more careful about what I decide to use for hitting myself.**

**Anyway, next chapter has a surprise! Even bigger than 'Zelma's spontaneous appearance out of thin air, if you can believe that! Haha! In the immortal words of everyone's favorite rose in misery:**

**"Got you all excited now! [is only cutting this part because it doesn't fit this context] Ain't you all delighted now..."**

**And, in the immortal words of one very kooky drag queen that is NOT Angel from RENT, even though I love 'er to death (*huggles her*):**

**"I see you shiver with antici...pation."**

**Gotchya on a cliffie that's not even an actual cliffie, haha! O.O ...Is that even possible...? *wanders off to ponder this new Question of the Universe that I have unintentionally brought up***

**-Maggie**

**PS: Infinity points and a lifetime supply of cookies to anyone who can tell me where I got the idea for the name of this chapter. Give me the musical, the quote, and the name of the character who said it. AND, just for a little more fun for those who want it, have some desire to become one of my favorite people in the entire world evah-evah-fo'EVAAAAAH, or are just plain obsessed with this particular musical like I am and would like to display your knowledge of it to a fellow member of its fandom, you can also tell me what scene it's from, the line from which other character THIS line was a response to, and just any other little thing about it you can think of and would like to toss in for good measure, go right ahead, it would only -thrillify- me even more to get such a response. n_n (I just gave you a hint, guys! I used a _afied word in that last sentence!)**


	4. Relatives

**AN: Okay, so first off, I just feel the urge to tell you that my brother and I are watching_ Pippin,_ and at one point, it goes a little like this:  
****  
[someone sticks that stereotypical campaign hat on his head from behind with a button that says "Vote Pippin" on it]  
Pippin: [turns to the Lead Player (Ben Vereen!)] I'm a politician.  
Ben: [takes hat off his head, sticks an army-esque one on instead] You're a revolutionary! And baby, you are _beautiful!_**

**Anyway, I just had to share that with you guys because, y'know, Les Mis, the barricade boys, Enjy, revolution, Les Amis, student revolutionaries...*laughs a little stupidly* YEAH, I KNOW I'M A HUGE DORK! :P**

**ANYWAY, here's that surprise I mentioned last chapter, which I REALLY hope is going to make you guys fall backwards out of your desk chairs in complete and utter shock, because I for one think that it's just THAT FREAKING BIG.**

**But then again, I think a lot things.  
Some of them are stupid. Others are wrong. Still others are stupid AND wrong. This might fall into one of those categories.**

**...And then again, maybe it won't. :)**

**WHICH IS WHY ANYONE WHO _DOES _FALL BACKWARDS OUT OF THEIR CHAIR IS REQUIRED BY LAW/LAWR/JAVERT TO TELL ME IN THEIR REVIEW OR ELSE.**

**Thank you very mucho much for your attentionz and have a nice day. :)**

**-Maggie**

**PS: Um, okay, so Javert is threatening to throw ME off of a bridge over the Seine if I don't do the disclaimer in the opening AN instead of the closing one, so for the sake of, you know, like, LIVING, I'm just gonna make it short and sweet before he-OKAY, OKAY, I'M DOING IT, KEEP YOUR HAT ON, DAMMIT! I DON'T OWN LES MIS, IT ALL BELONGS TO VICTOR HUGO AND OTHER PEOPLE, NONE OF WHOM ARE ME! THERE, I DID IT, NOW BACK OFF, MUTTONCHOPS, BEFORE I BRING IN MY (only-inside-my-head-because-they're-fictional-characters) BIG BROTHERS AND GET THEM INVOLVED, CUZ I CAN GUARANTEE THAT AIN'T GONNA END UP BEIN' VERY PRETTY FOR YA! *hits him over the head with my trusy giant wooden baseball bat that always seems to just conveniently appear out of absolutely nowhere at all when ever I need it for stuff like this XD***

* * *

The front door opened, then slammed with enough force to make some of the nearby paintings rattle slightly on their hooks. Joly glanced up from his book as angry footsteps began heading towards the study where he was reading. "Didn't go well, I take it?" he said a bit distractedly as he gazed at his friend and roommate over the top of the frame of his glasses. The other man laughed. "If that isn't the understatement of the century!" he declared loudly. He sighed as he fell into a chair, leaning his head back to look up a the ceiling.

"I missed her," he said after a few moments. "Missed her by a week. A week, Joly, a God damn _week, _can you believe it?! If I'd gotten there only seven days sooner, I'd..." He trailed off, clenching his fist as the muscles in his neck tightend visibly. Before Joly had time to register what was happening, his friend had leapt up and pounded his fist against the wall, letting out a wordless shout of frustration that, along with the bang of his fist impacting with the wall, made Joly jump in surprise and almost drop his book. He hastily marked his place and took his glasses off, setting them down with the book on the side table next to the chair he was in before standing up and going to his friend, putting a comforting hand on the back of the other man's shoulder.

Blue eyes met dark ones as an alabaster hand reached into a leather bag, coming back out into the open holding a raven-haired doll with delicate features, eyes a deep shade of emerald, and an amethyst dress with sapphire accents. "His wife brought this out to show me and told me to keep it. She said that it proves even more than the lack of note and the abruptness of it that they must have left in a hurry for some reason, whatever it may have been. She said that Brigitte would never leaver her doll behind if she knew she wasn't going to be sleeping in her own bed for even a single night." Joly looked from the doll to his friend's face, eyebrows going up a few inches. "Brigitte? Is that...?"

For the first time in five years, the smile that graced Enjolras' face was a genuine one. True, it was also a sad one, but the trace of real, honest-to-goodness happiness buried underneath that sadness made Joly breathe a mental sigh of relief. There hadn't been even a trace amount of anything but sorrow in his friend for five whole years, and seeing a genuine smile on his face after so long made it feel as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I have a daughter, Joly," he said quietly. "'Ponine named her Brigitte, it turns out they've been with the Pontmercys this entire time, can you believe it? And this is her doll. She's spent the past two or three years of her life holding this every night while she slept and bringing it downstairs with her to breakfast every morning and dressing it up and brushing and braiding its hair and...Cosette told me that she named it Danielle. Joly, do you realize that this doll...even before holding it...just _looking _at it is as close as I've ever come to having any sort of contact whatsoever with my own daughter. Hell, this is the closest I've come to her mother in the past five years. This is...God, it...it's overwhelming."

Joly nodded. "I would imagine so," he said. There was a noisy clatter from somewhere down the hall, followed by a thump and the rustle of papers, then someone swore in French just loudly enough for Joly and Enjolras to hear it. The former sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Enjolras chuckled as he put the doll back into his bag, then put his bag in the chair he'd been sitting in before taking his coat off and tossing it over the arm. "Sounds like Amade's at it again, eh?" he said, quirking an eyebrow. Joly shook his head, eyes turned up to the ceiling.

"What could have possibly made me think it would be a good idea to let my weird, awkward little man-child of a cousin come to live with us, I shall never know," he said wryly. As if on cue, the third and final tenant of Joly's house appeared in the doorway, wire glasse askew on his face, ink-stained fingers fumbling inside a waistcoat pocket while he simultaneously struggled not to drop the armful of books and papers he was carrying. His narrow, angular face was flushed, his hair was a tangled mess, and, just like always, there were ink stains scattered around in random places on the sleeves and shoulders of his shirt.

He stopped short when he saw Joly and Enjolras standing there with nearly identical smirks on their faces, spurred back into motion only when everything slipped out of his arms and onto the floor in front of his feet. He looked from the mess to his two older roommates, then pointed at the former. "I can fix that," he said. This statement having been put out in the open, he dropped to his knees and began working on doing just that. "Um, so, Enjolras," he said, "you're back, I see. How, uh...I mean, what...Did you find your...Y'know, your...your girlfriend, or...?"

Enjolras' face fell. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dirty-blonde mess of curls. "I got there a week late," he said. "She was there, and now she's gone. But I do know now that the child she had was-_is _a girl. Brigitte. I'm not giving up, though," he added, face hardening into a look of determination. "I'll find her. I'll figure out where it is she's headed off to, I'll go there myself, and I'll find her. I _will _see her again and I _will _meet my daughter, even if it's the last thing I ever do, so help me God, and if I don't, then I'll die trying."

"Speaking of dying," Joly said, picking his glasses up from the side table and putting them back on, "how are you feeling today, Apollo? Any trouble breathing, or...?" "I feel fine, M. _le Docteur Malade Imaginaire. _Seriously, Joly, it was five years ago, I've barely had any trouble with it at all since it happened, you worry about it too damn much, just like you worry too much about your own imaginary health issues and illnesses. I appreciate the concern, my friend, but for God's sake, you need to relax. It gets on my nerves sometimes, and if I haven't died after five years, then I honestly don't think that's going to suddenly change for no reason."

"We are talking about living, breathing, walking around, being _you _with a lung that was punctured by a bullet and nearly killed you, Enjolras, why _shouldn't_ I worry?"  
"I'm still confused about how exactly it _didn't _kill him," Amade interjected as he stood up with his books and papers clutched tightly against himself so he wouldn't drop them again.

"After Éponine had taken off," his cousin said, "I was going around closing eyes and such, making sure I had everyone accounted for so I could give them all the burial they deserved. While I was closing Gavroche's eyes and trying to get some of the dirt off his face and clean up some of the blood around the edges of his wounds, I heard a groan. After some investigating, I discovered that Enjolras was still breathing and had a pulse. True, he was only _barely _breathing, and the pulse was very faint, but it was still there, and that was more than enough motivation for me to keep trying to save him. I knew that my studies hadn't taught me enough to be able to help him in his condition, though, so I half-dragged, half-carried him outside, found a cart that was still intact enough for what I needed, put him in it, and went as fast as I could to the nearest convent.

"I left him there while I went back to finish with the bodies, and when I came back, I just caught the doctor the Mother Superior had sent for as he was leaving. He'd managed to succeed where I'd failed and gotten the bullets out. Thankfully, it turned out the puncture in Enjolras' lung wasn't nearly as deep or bad as I'd thought it was, but I was told that he'd probably have trouble breathing throughout the rest of his life and that his respiration should be watched and monitered carefully just in case. So that's exactly what I've been doing ever since."

Enjolras smirked slightly as he sat down on a chaise, chuckling lightly. "I've been fine for the most part," he added. "I have the occasional coughing fit, and sometimes my breathing gets raspy, mostly during the winter months, but other than that, it hasn't really given me any trouble. Certainly nothing life-threatening."  
"True," Joly said as he sat back down and picked up his book, "but it's true what they say about being too careful; you never can."

Enjolras sat up straight all of a sudden as something sparked in his blue eyes. "Joly, you've just given me an idea," he said. Joly looked up from his book and frowned. "I have?" he asked. But Enjolras was already halfway through the doorway and had stopped listening as he raced down the hall and into the rear parlor, then came back clutching that morning's paper in his hand as his eyes quickly scanned through headlines. "Ah-_ha!" _he shouted, making both Amade and Joly jump in surprise. Enjolras yanked the book from the latter's hands, thrusting the paper into his face in practically the exact same instant.

"Look at that," he said, pointing at one of the headlines. "Thénardier. That's Éponine's last name. She told me her father is a crook who only cares about becoming rich. My guess is that she either heard or read about this somewhere and knew that since she's a direct relative, they would crack down on her twice as hard as any of his gang members if they managed to track her down, so she packed it up and took off with Brigitte to find a place where she could lay low for awhile to keep herself and Brigitte safe."

"I have to agree with that theory," Joly said as read over the article with his brow furrowed thoughtfully. When he noticed something in his peripheral vision, he looked up, then frowned when he realized that Enjolras was gone from the room again. "Where did he go?" he asked. Amade merely shrugged in response. In another few minutes, Les Amis' former leader had returned, this time with a carpet bag in his hand and a haversack slung across his body. Joly and Amade watched as he crossed the room in silence, picked Danielle up from the chaise, gazed at her for a moment, the put her in the haversack and closed the flap.

He grabbed his coat from the chair and met Joly's eyes as he put it over his arm. "I'm going after them," he said simply. "I have spent the last five years of my life worrying and wondering and dreaming about seeing her again, longing for the day I can finally know my own child. I swore to myself that I would do whatever it takes to make that happen. I will go to the ends of the earth to find her if I have to, but I _am _going to do it, and even if I don't, well, then..."

He shrugged. "Like I said earlier; I'll die trying."

* * *

**AN: Oh, come ON, you guys, did you SERIOUSLY think that I was going to give 'Ponine a child and then throw her out there without the kid's father? DID YOU SERIOUSLY THINK I WOULD PUT HER IN A POSITION THAT COULD POTENTIALLY LAND HER IN THE SAME PLACE AS FANTINE? CUZ IF YOU DID, THEN YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MOTHER FRACKING MIND.**

**Anyway, I tried to come up with a logical explanation for how in the name of all that is holy he could have POSSIBLY survived having his lung punctured by a bullet, especially after having him cough up blood and all that, and out of the possibilites I was able to come up with, the one that ended up actually getting used sounded the most realistic to me. So I hope that it didn't come across as being _too _terribly far-fetched, because I really did try my very best to make it as probable as I could. **

**Remember, though, guys, I am a sixteen-year-old girl with a disorder that's on the Autism spectrum (complicated, don't ask), and my two weakest points in school as far as the core subjects go are math and science. Most of the time when I write about stuff like this, I have to rely on a combination of Wikipedia, what VERY (and I honestly _cannot _stress that enough) little I know about these things, and various things that Google pulls up for me when I type this stuff into the search bar. So you have to forgive any inaccuracies, unlikliehoods, etc., etc., because I really do put absolutely everything I am able to into my writing, and I use absolutely every possible resource I can think of and am able to use to make things as accurate and realistic as I possibly can.**

***sighs* Okay, I'm done, you get it, I'm passionate about my writing, I'm sure a lot of you guys are, too, so I'll just shut up now.**

**ANYWAY, ENJY'S NOT DEAD, HURRAY, LET'S ALL CELEBRATE THAT!**

***runs off to do exactly that***

**-Maggie**

**PS: I tried to make this chapter longer. I'm not sure if I succeeded very well or not, but...*shrugs* :/**


End file.
